


Assorted tidbits

by Verdin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, We'll see what kind of smut time will bring., dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-12-11 21:25:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11722869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdin/pseuds/Verdin
Summary: This is where I collect drabbles from https://ardynium.tumblr.com/post/163794348352/send-me-a-number-and-a-ship-and-ill-write-aIf you have wishes, leave them here or drop me a line @ardynium.





	1. Cor/Titus: Public Play.

„Your Majesty will excuse us for just a moment?“

Regis nodded and gave the two men a little wave. He was rather happy to have a a few minutes for himself before having to receive the Tenebrian delegation in audience. As much as he loved little Luna, he was not to keen on having to spend time with some merchants that considered themselves figureheads of the the economy, but being all smiles and exchanging pleasantries was part of being a king.

He did not feel well today, and his leg was acting up.

 

„What is this about, Captain?“ Cor had a vague idea what this meeting would be. The whole day Titus had this gleam in his eye he only had when he had a _plan_ , and _plans_ of a kind that would hurt in the best way the next day.

„Stand to attention, Marshal.“ Captain Drautos commanded, and so he did. The older man walked around him, hands behind his back, with a smirk telling just too palpably he liked what he saw.

„Open your belt.“

„Sir.“

„You know how this goes.“  
„Titus, we don't have time for this now.” His cock didn't necessarily share this opionion, twitching in expectation of things to come.

“Follow the order, Leonis. Your belt. Your trousers.” He had taken position before him now, standing at ease and grinning.

“Sir.” He followed the order. Of course he did.

“Look what I have here, Marshal.” From one of the pockets of his uniform, Drautos pulled a slick silver thing, just long enough to hit the sweet spot, its base thickened so it couldn't get lost. “A upgrade in my arsenal. Works via remote.”

“Sir?” It was not only him that stood to attention now.

“Hands to the wall, Leonis, slightly bent position. You know the drill.”

 

The meeting was every bit as boring as Regis had feared. The guildmasters in their ornate suits went on and on about _possibilities_ and _profit_ , and he could not allow his mind to drift too far, for his input was required now and then.

Something was wrong with his guards today. Drautos seemed in an exceptionally good mood which he only had when he... _just great_. Was this what their _just a moment_ -business had been about? Looking at Cor with his eternal stoneface the king could not tell, but as time went by he noticed a correlation between the captain discreetly checking his pocket and the marshal twitching ever so slightly.

Oh well.

At least _they_ were having a good time.

 


	2. Gladio/ Ignis: Orgasm Denial

“I told you to put on a shirt when you come into my kitchen.”

Ignis was not angry. Ignis was never angry. He was slightly displeased, though, and that grew worse as Gladio dipped his finger into the bowl of freshly whipped cream.

“You told me to put on a shirt cause of the hot oil”, he grinned, slowly licking his finger clean. “You're not frying anything, so there's no reason for a shirt.”

“Hot oil and because it's way more hygienic. It's bad enough to have this mix of hair gel, muscle balm and leather ointment in here as it is, at least spare us from your sweat.”

Gladio dipped his finger again, this time slowly dragging it over Iggy's cheek.

“Cut that cr...”, his voice failed when the burly man wrapped his arm around his waist, pulled him closer and licked the cream in tiny, eager laps from his skin, a kitten having found something enjoyable.

“This is not how a mousse works!” he protested halfheartedly. “And you're doing it wrong.”

“Oh, am I. You gonna show me how to do it right, chef?”

“Stand over there.” He nodded towards the fridge, one of the rare things even wider than Gladio's shoulders.

“Yes chef!” The necessary eager tone was something Gladio had learned from TV, and he leaned against the cold surface. Ignis took the bowl of cream, using his own finger now to draw a white line on the muscular chest. Gladio grinned.

“This is why you wear a shirt in the kitchen. Imagine you make a mess of yourself and there's nobody to...”, slowly his tongue removed some of the line, “...clean you up.”

“Guess I just could wipe me down...”

Ignis' tongue trailed further down. The recipe obviously called for more cream, to be removed with licks and kisses, and Gladio understood that this probably was not the time where reasoning brought him anywhere.

When the chef told him to hold the bowl, he did so, and his cock sprang out to greet Iggy as he pulled down his jogging pants.

“And no underwear. Gladiolus. Didn't we talk about the importance of proper dress?”

“To teach Noct how to behave. And I don't see Noct anywhere.”

More cream. Now it was Ignis himself who made a mess. It was on his hands, on his face, and Gladio humped against his ministrations, hands in his buddy's hair, eyes closed. He gasped as he was taken whole, again and again, a rare pleasure for him, and he felt himself tensing up, ready to loose it...

...when all those lovely sensations were gone. Very suddenly, obviously very unfairly, and he groaned in desperation.

“C'mon, Iggy... please...”

Specs was standing again, cream on his glasses, his hair in disarray, a slight smirk around his lips.

“The next time you come into my kitchen, you will be a good boy and wear a shirt. Is that understood?”

The big guy whimpered.

“Don't expect me to finish things when you can't even finish dressing. And now scram. I'll have to whip up new cream.”

“Can I help?” he asked feebly.

“Get yourself nice and clean and you may. And if you do proper, I'll find a use for the rest of this bowl.”

 


	3. Ardyn/Ravus: Chastity

“Ravus, sweet Ravus mine...”

He heard the smooth singing voice before Izunia even entered the room. At least, that left him time to regain some kind of composure. He did not want to see the bastard the utter disgust his sheer existence woke in him, and having him crooning a lovesong with his name in it was among the worst things he could imagine, even in his own sorry state.

He still didn't see why the Kings did not grant them their power. He was _worthy_ , and he was _wise_ , and he had _noble goals_ , and what did he get for those? Being strapped to a hospital bed, the first bases for an mechanical arm and, worst of all, regular visits bei Ardyn Izunia. While he understood that this treatment were necessary for attaching the arm and making it fully functional, he wished there was any other way than the obnoxious chancellor _touching_ him, _feeding_ him sticky black oil straight from his mouth. Ravus refused to see it as kisses. It was just a bird feeding its young, so they could grow strong, so they could fly.

The thought of the black goo made his body shiver and yearn. It was horrendous, the way it felt when it coated his insides, the way it quenched any memory that was fillrd with smiles, and yet it felt so powerful that every inch of him was drawn to have more.

_More_.

“Ah, look who's already with me today! Feeling better, are we? Such a frown, my sweet Ravus. Bad dreams?” A surge of words before Izunia even closed the door behind him. “But you should be happy! Today's your big day!”

“Is it.”

“Your arm is getting attached for the first time! It will be just won-der-ful. Imagine all the new possibilities the tech will give you!” Izunia beamed and slowly peeled away some parts of his clothing. Coat and hat had to go, they would get in the way. “And I even brought you a present.”

“Did you.” Ravus' mood dropped even further. This probably wouldn't be candy and flowers or a get-well-soon card.

“So, you see, I talked to the doctor, and she told me that new limbs often lead to the patients damaging themselves, because they can't control them correctly at first. That's the small price you pay for improvement in all other aspects. And of course, my dearest Ravus, I know you're one of those unshakeable loners that would never think about enjoying any aspect of their miserable lifes expect for their insatiable burning for revenge, let alone doing something to actively _please_ themselves, but...”, he straddled Ravus' legs now, pulling back the thin hospital blanket, “...I know how _awfully excited_ your body gets after the treatments, so I brought you this.”

A little package landed on Ravus' lap, neatly wrapped into polka-dotted paper.

“Since you are un-armed at the moment, you surely do not mind if I open this for you. And help you to put it on.”

Ravus stared daggers, and those daggers grew to swords when Ardyn showed him the little contraption he brought.

“What the...”

“A chastity belt.” Ardyn marveled at his own present. “Well, a rather modern take on it, quite comfortable to wear, or so I am told. We don't want you to accidentally rip you manhood off just because you tug at it too strong, do we?” He pulled back the blanket.

“I hate you.” _So, so much._

“I know, my sweet Ravus, I know. That's the beauty of it.”

 


	4. Cor/ Loqi: Multiple orgasms

“...so I get in my Armor and put myself on speaker, and I say “It's past time your legend came to an end”, and...'scuse me for a sec, okay? Gotta take a leak.”

The woman at the bar he sat with nodded, smiled and rolled her eyes when he stumbled away.

“He's with the Niffs”, the barkeep warned her as she reached for his drink, and she emptied it even more determined.

“Put mine on his tap then.” She grinned and left.

 

Loqi had started this evening with some pills of the kind that kept soldiers in the field going long after their bodies would have given up, and had drunk just enough to combat the painful soberness they caused in him. Well, maybe a bit more, but he felt _great_. This was because he was _great_.

“I'd fuck me”, he smiled at his face in the mirror, marveling at his own perfection.

“Now would you.”

Loqi's face went blank. How long had the man been standing there? He was leaning against one of the stalls, dressed in black, short hair and eyes like the winter sky, and Loqi said the first thing that came to his mind.

“Shit.”

He was shaking all of a sudden. “Marshal?”

All his bravado was gone, and he was a kid again, and he was on his knees, wrapping his arms around the legs of his childhood hero. All that had happened at the Citadel, the humiliation that came afterwards, even the lost battle with the Bros, it was gone from his mind, and utter adoration condensed in tears welled from his eyes. When the Immortal softly touched his blond locks and told him to get up, he did all too willing, and when he suddenly found himself pressed against the tiled wall, Cor's hand around his neck, he sighed and closed his eyes, waiting for a kiss from his hero that would _save_ him.

“Are you out of your mind, boy?”

“Please, Sir... please...”

 

There was no tenderness in this kiss. Cor's tongue opened him up like a ripe peach, and Loqi devoured his deep intrusion eagerly. The lean body against his own felt so strong, so right, and the idea that his hero had come here to kill him, to take his revenge, got him excited in a way he never knew was possible. He pressed against the Immortal, rubbing his cock through his pants, groaning silently.

 

This was not what Cor had expected. When he came here for a drink, it was by complete accident that he saw Tummelt sitting at the bar, and when he went after him to teach him a lesson, he certainly did not expect _this_. The little fucker got him _hard_.

 

Loqi's face was pressed against the wall now, and he got rid of his pants before Cor even tried. His hand was working his dick, and as the marshal spit on his fingers and tried to open him up, he found the boy already wide and willing. He shuddered under the older man's touch, twitched a little, and as Cor reached around to check, he found his fingers wet with cum. Yet the boy was still hard as a rock.

For a moment, the Immortal mused what the little bastard might be on, but then decided not to care. Not with him.

As he drove himself into the hungry opening, hot and smooth and all his for a few precious minutes, he felt himself tense up, the first tiny wave of an orgasm hitting him, and he clenched his muscles and focused on his breathing, riding this wave without falling down.

Loqi was moaning loudly, humping back, and Cor used his second hand to smother the boy's noises. He would ride this bird as long as he could, and he had learned to control himself, reaching peak after peak without releasing.

Maybe he would make him swallow in the end. After he begged for it. And take a picture, just for the sweet memories.

 

 


	5. Regis/ Titus Drautos: Hate Sex.

So this was death.

So this was hell, or his hell at least. Of course, it was. General Glauca found himself in the palace of Insomnia, and the damn place was in full glory, lit and majestic and full of happy people that straight out ignored him. When he tried to hit one of the guards, his fist went straight through her, like he was nothing, not even a gust of wind.

After some time of angry stomping around, uselessly trying to call his armor, even more uselessly trying to get somebody, anybody to notice him, he gave up and sat down on a bench in the gardens, his head buried in his hands. He sat there for a good long while, and even if thirst and hunger did not come for him, boredom surely did. He got up and wandered a little more, wondering if this was supposed to teach him a lesson, deciding that no, this was just the Six being assholes once again.

Then he screamed a little.

 

He did not remember how he ended up in the throne room. Maybe because this was the only place without happy people around. Maybe because it felt like a good idea to at least try and spit on the damn throne, if nothing else was an option.

It did not work, and he sat down on it, legs outstretched, chin in his hand.

The person that had entered the room now looked tiny from here. Unimportant. Distant. This damn chair must be a part of the reason why kings were such bastards.

The person, a guy, young, dark haired and in a black suit, raised his hand. Waved. Waved to _him_ , and he said his name, and he heard it loud and clear.

“Titus. There you are.”

Crap.

 

Regis was looking good, that he had to admit. The afterlife was agreeing with him. He looked young and healthy, and he looked relaxed, almost like a stranger.

“So, you got here in the end. What got you?”

“I... I don't really remember.” It was the first time Titus wondered about that. He had been too busy being angry up to now.

“I do hope it was not too painful.” The king smiled. He had climbed the stairs now and sat down on the balustrade opposite his murderer.

“I killed you, didn't I?” He did not understand this. Regis being so fucking _friendly_.

“Oh yes, you did. Death by the sword. Befitting for a king. That's why I called you here.” He rose, every move full of grandeur, and slapped the traitor, ever so gently. Just a little rebuke, but it made the anger rise again in him, drowning out the irritation. Titus' hand was around the king's wrist before he even tried to pull back, and a fraction of a second later he was in his face, a wild hog wondering if attacking was the right option, and for a hog, it always was, but those damn soft green eyes welcomed him, accepted him, still did, and as Titus froze, the young king kissed him. Tenderly first, but as his tongue met gritted teeth, Regis laughed a little, then bit the lips before him, tugging playfully. Titus' hand was around his throat in a heartbeat, and he pressed down violently, and Regis was still smiling, not even doing him the favour to gasp a little. “Try as you will, my Glaive”, he whispered, and this time it were Titus' lips that smothered his words. An angry hand ripped through fabric, destroying a well-tailored suit, while the other one was still choking a man he loathed, but his flesh was so warm and so alive and so real. His short nails dug into it him, trying to tear him apart, and he felt the king moaning into his mouth, grinding against him, and he was hard, _why the fuck was he hard_ , and Titus felt his own cock coming to life.

Regis broke the kiss, and with one tiny gesture and a blur of light, he was behind his attacker, sitting on the throne,  _his_ throne, his sword in hand, the tip in Titus' back.

“On your knees, traitor. You'll serve your king like it is your duty...”

 


	6. Cor/ Titus: Something something lingerie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Spinoff from lovely smgmcrznana and her fic "In Red" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/12340839/chapters/28066233), set after chapter 4.]]

 

The next weeks were filled with shame. Cor was trying to avoid the captain of the Glaives whenever possible, being busy everywhere else but at the palace. There was no trace left of delicate lace and caressing silk in his apartment, only sober cotton, black or grey and made for men. Being caught like this would not happen a second time. No weakness, not even this little one.

It was the evening before his day off when the doorbell rang.

“Drautos?”

The burly man was in civilian clothing, jeans and a leather jacket, a slightly guilty smile on his face and a box in his hands, matte black cardboard with a golden bow around it. “Can I come in, Leonis?”  
Cor was in trackpants and barefoot, a glass of whisky on the rocks in his hand. Not exactly someone that expected a visitor, but he shrugged. “Sure. Drink for you, captain?”

“Please.”

Cor very much noticed how nervous the other man was, how his eyes clung to his naked chest. Very much not the Drautos he knew. “What brings you here?” The situation was too weird to add his usual _the fuck_ , and he filled a glass for him. Nodded towards the couch to sit down. Watched him walk. Was he drunk? There was a slight tumble in his step. “Been on a night out and looking for a place to crash?”

“No. Yes. A bit, maybe.” The captain sank into the upholstery. Grinned, a touch desperate, and thanked him as he took the drink. They clinked their glasses. “You’ve been out and about more than usual, Leonis, and I wanted to talk to you about… you know. Elevator. Clothing beyond regulations.”

Cor felt the heat rise in his chest and took a deep breath. “Captain?” He had expected mockery, but this was very much not it. The man was even more abashed than himself.

“Here.” Titus’ fingers knocked onto the cardboard. “For you. Bought it for someone else, but she neither liked it nor me in the end, and it’s not my size.” He looked up to the marshal shyly, a boy asking for a date to the prom. “You can try it on. If you like it, it’s yours.” He emptied his drink in one big gulp and went to help himself another one, just to get out of the slightly irritated gaze of those blue eyes.

Cor’s hands tugged at the bow, opened the box. The slight rustle of black silk paper with a print of tiny golden hearts, a sticker with the label of a rather exclusive designer. Whoever the lady had been, Drautos must have taken quite a liking to her. He held his breath as he leafed it aside.

Satiny ribbons and golden clasps and black silk. It took him a while to figure out the logistics of the piece. A harness to run over the chest in a delicate network that would draw a seven-pointed star onto the skin below, to be bound with bows in the back and around the neck, with long straps to affix the stockings, opaque black things with a golden seam. Below he found the matching gloves, long enough to reach the middle of the upper arm. The only item to really cover anything was a silken slip, ribbons on its sides, easy enough to open in case it got in the way. Playful and naughty and impossible to put on alone. He sighed.

“It’s beautiful, captain. I’m sure it looks gorgeous worn, but…”

“You… could try it on. Now.” Titus bit his lip.

“I…”

“C'mon, Leonis. Gonna give you a hand.”

 


	7. Cor/ Monica/ Dustin: Threesome shennanigans

“Oh c'mon, you can't be leaving again already. At least spend a night or two in a proper bed.” Talcott held onto Cor's sleeve to keep him from just turning away after he brought updates from the outside. He was eleven and not too self-absorbed in teenage problems yet to notice the man he had known for so many years was close to crashing. Again. He spent too much of his time on the hunt, and he wasn't getting any younger. The boy was just happy that Iris was with him these nights, to keep him from losing himself out there, and yet he was shocked how tired and tense the marshal's stern face looked.

“Talcott's right, Leonis. You're staying for a while. Iris needs a break, and you need a shower and some sleep.” Monica had come over to them and watched the little scene. Her hand rested heavy upon his shoulder.

“That an order?” Winter-sky eyes staring at her.

“We don't have to make it one. Let's call it a well-deserved free day. I know what you're doing for us out there, but this star will manage to survive a few hours without it. Do it for the girl, if you don't wanna do it for yourself. Join us for dinner and as few drinks and relax a bit.”

Cor's shoulders slumped down, and he nodded in acceptance. She was right. Of course, she was.

 

In the end, he was glad that he stayed. Monica insisted on barbecue, for fresh meat was the only thing they had enough of, and they sat together under strings of fairylights, drinking beer – and lemonade, in the kids' case – and told the kids the same old tales of high adventure in the Crownsguard, when Regis was still on the throne. Dustin joined them later, soon standing behind Monica, his hands on her shoulders, relaxing her tense muscles, and it was then that Cor recognized that it was _her_ that needed a little time-out, more than any of them. What she did on the homefront, all the organizing, all the scheduling, was worth way more than a single hunter could hope to achieve. He noticed himself staring at her, and she noticed too. Raised her brows.

“Something to say, Leonis?”

He, against his habit, nodded. “Thank you. For doing what you do.”

“I...” She blinked. Smiled. “Your beer is getting warm. Let's drink.” Their bottles clinked.

 

He was not sure when the change had happened. Officially, he was still her superior, but at some point after Regis' death, when Cor was busy with other things, busy with _not thinking_ , she took some things from his shoulders, and they just stayed there after the darkness fell. Not once had he tried to take them back. It felt good to have someone to trust, to take orders from he didn't have to doubt, and Monica never once made a decision that he needed to doubt.

“Can I have one too, Cor? Pretty please?” Iris held up a bottle.

“Would you brother allow that?”

“Gladdy would say I'm old enough and had enough protein for the day, so I shall go ahead, but not come crying if I'm sick afterwards.” She grinned.

“That _does_ sound like him, gotta admit it. How about you take Talcott along and get a new round for the four of us?”

Iris jumped a little, grabbed Talcott by the hand and tugged him away.

 

“She makes you happy, doesn't she?” Dustin sat down next to Monica, his arm around her waist, and she planted a quick kiss onto his cheek. It was a rare thing for them to display their affection this openly. “It's been years since we've seen you that way.”

“That way?” Cor repeated.

“Smiling, Leonis. Without making it a major task. We're happy you found a new reason.” Monica took his hand and held it tight.

“Even though I lost my bet. My money was on _lover_ , not on _daughter_.” Dustin pushed up his glasses.

“You owe me, dear.” She gently nudged him.

“You still wish me to ask him?” Dustin raised his brows, and Monica nodded softly.  
“Ask me _what_?” Cor emptied his bottle. His face went blank. This did not bode well.

“If you'd be willing to spend a night with us now and then. _Relax_ in a way you won't do with Iris.” His deep voice was as calm as ever.

“You mean...”

“One of your favorite words, Leonis. _Fuck_.” She grinned. “If that's not your thing, it's a-okay. You don't have to decide this now. We'll be here for quite a while.”

The marshal's answer was cut short by the kids returning. Iris was beaming, finally being allowed to drink with the adults, even if it was only one bottle.

 

 

“Elshett?”

Cor had hesitated a bit too long. Had watched them for a while, shapes moving in the darkness. Dustin's moans were silent. He hadn't expected him to be on all fours with Monica's hand in the nape of his neck, pushing him down, but then, what had he expected?

“Mistress will do, Leonis.” A smile in her voice. “Come here.”

Cor felt his cock pulse against the fabric. Still unsure if this was a good idea, but her voice left no room for doubt. Dustin reached for him, welcomed him with a kiss that tasted of red wine and pussy, and the marshal sank into sheets moist with their sweat.

“Safeword is _Insomnia_.”

Together they freed him from the confines of his uniform, nails digging into his skin, and he mumbled an _understood_ somewhere on the way. His skin ached for their touch, and from their touch shortly after, setting him on fire. Just how long had it been? Somebody was biting, somebody kissing, somebody's mouth around his cock, swallowing him whole, and his mind went from _slightly drunk_ to _somewhere else_ in a matter of heartbeats. He let go. Allowed himself to do so, for this was familiar territory, even if he had never known them in this way. Eyes like the winter sky closed, letting go, relaxing, and he stretched his arms over his head, allowing the steel of the cuffs to enclose his wrists.

Standard equipment.

Gods.

His hips bucked against the heat surrounding his dick. Nothing to prove, not here, but it was too good to let go, to let it stop now, and he mumbled a desperate _please_. Monica's laugh was as low as her voice. “Open him up for me, will you?”

The wet heat around him went away, only to come again between his thighs. Slow laps of a tongue against the tight muscle, pushing into him. He was used to this, but it was so long ago...

Cor felt the heat rising in the base of his spine, and he breathed in deep. Relax. _Relax_.

Hands around his cheeks, spreading him open. Long licks that reached the tip of him, returned and started anew. As always, Dustin knew what he was doing.

Two fingers stretching him, then somebody spitting. Adding new moistness to a moist place, and using it to glide into him. His muscles tensed and relaxed again, and brought a moan over his usually silent lips. Slow movements against those bony digits, impaling himself all too willingly.

“He's a good boy.”

“I know he is. Two more?”

Four fingers in him now, working into him. Cor noticed the change in his breath, noticed it becoming deeper, watching the reactions of his body from a distance. Letting go cost him, and it was his muscles loosening that managed to override his inhibitions. The breath that filled him now was deep, without the usual control. _Fuck_.

Dustin spit again. This would not be painful, for once, and Cor tried to close his hands around his cock. Sweet release.

“Tsk. Leonis. Control. You know about control. Hands over your head. You got no permission to come.” Monica sounded sharper than usual, and it made him throb even harder. “Dustin, would you?”

“May I, Mistress?”

“May you _what_?”

“Fuck this little slut's face, Mistress.” He sounded perfectly composed, while his fingers were pumping into the marshal's hole.

“You may.”

Cor felt them moving, changing places. Weight placed on his chest, and the wet tip of a stranger's cock at his lips. He gave it a lick, tasted salt and human and wrapped himself around it, taking it all in. Strong hands around his skull, dragging his head closer to the coarse hair at the base, letting him choke on the pulsing length. He tried to focus. Control his breathing. He knew how to do this, dammit!

“How does he do?”

“Trying his best, Mistress. Still breathing, though. Shall I stop him?”

“Please do.” She lined up with him, and Cor felt a smooth hardness against his hole, pushing down on it. Opening him up to his limits, just below the point where pain became too much. Pushing deeper. He heard himself gasp, but it was cut short by Dustin holding his nose shut. For a few heartbeats, he held very still, but then he started to struggle, struggle against all that kept him from air, struggle against the thing that spread him apart, and he felt a hand pump his length, so impossibly big and hard against the warm palm.

“Air. He may not come yet.” She kept on pushing in and out. Efficient and without mercy, even here, while the man allowed him to breathe. Cor's mind was swimming, and he listened to his own ragged moans.

Monica lifted his thighs to push even deeper, supporting them with her shoulders. This was long overdue, and the little noises the marshal made against the dick of her pet made her ache for more. “Look at the little bitch. So eager to come. Take my place, will you?”

“As Mistress commands.”

A horrible emptiness in his tightly filled hole that was soon filled again with something smaller, but so wonderfully warm, while another body straddled him, taking his own aching cock into heated depths. Her strong hands were around his throat, pushing down on diligently working arteries. He did not try to resist.

“I trust you,” between hard breaths.

“I know, Leonis.” She tensed around him, shivering, and pushed down even harder.

 

Cor got lost somewhere warm and dark and pleasant, diving deep into blood-warm currents, coming back to the steady beating drum of his own heart. Breaking through the surface into cold air, gasping for air between her kisses, and the hands around him filled his whole little world. He was nothing but skin and desire for a few precious moments, and as he came, it was his whole being he filled into her, leaving nothing but a merciful hollow. Movements around him stopped as his heart did, started again with the small eternity to the next beat. They were not done with him, and he was thankful for it.


	8. Cor/ Loqi: Sex Pollen

“Ah, how the mighty have fallen.” Loqi kneeled on Leonis' back, twisting his arm painfully. Cor groaned. It was not fair, but what did he expect out of the little fucker? Adhering to rules and honor? Not bringing a gun to a swordfight? Admittedly, it hadn't been him that shot him in the back, but one of the MTs, and that might as well have been a malfunction in the programming. He had seen the shocked look on the boy's face as the bullet tore through his opponent's shoulder, throwing him off balance, and yet, it had not kept him from abusing the situation.

“How about you _shut the fuck up_?” Cor panted. This was bad enough without the tiny bastard waxing poetically. The boy said nothing, and Cor heard him inhale deeply. Wondered. Smelled it too, then. A sweet scent that filled the air, honeydew and vanilla and the slight sharpness of mildew. Saw it, then.

“How pretty...” Loqi had almost forgotten about the man below him, staring in wonder at the tiny glowing stars that the slight breeze washed over them. His grip loosened. Tightened again. Not to hold him, but because _touching_ him, feeling his heat under the shirts, felt so very nice, and Cor noticed himself shudder under the hands of the little bastard. There was a heat growing inside of him, the fabric of his clothes like a caress on his skin, and the actual _touches_ tiny bursts of flame. _Gods_. He bit his lip. So those weren't the tales of old soldiers to excuse a night of debauchery, but a very real thing. He groaned as the boy bent down to kiss him, struggling to turn around. No longing lips on the cheek, but proper kisses, deep and with small bites between them, that was what he needed. _Get yourself together, Leonis_ , and then there was Loqi's mouth eagerly awaiting him, and they sank into each other.

The MTs looked on in slight irritation, as much as they could be irritated. They had no protocol for naked men or to break up a _playful wrestling match_ initiated by a commanding officer, and after a while of simply standing there they decided to wander of to secure the perimeter.

 


End file.
